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TO      LADY     GROSVENOR 
WHO      HAS      ATTAINED 


gJ  .    ^rrureiJ    ta  tAe^   ^Jo^irvLi 


'  J/o//^r  jbmjc . 


THE 

FLOWER 

of  Peace 

A  CoUedion  of  the 
Devotional  Poetry  of 

KATHARINE 

TYNAN 


"  If  thou  can'st  get  but  thither 

There  grows  the  Flower  of  Peace, 
The  Rose  that  cannot  wither, 
Thy  Fortress  and  thine  Ease." 
Henry  Vaughan. 


New  York 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons 

597-599  Fifth  Avenue 


n^r 


Printed  in  England 


^    CONTENTS 


BOOK     I. 

"adveniat  regnvm  tvvm":  p.  3. 
an  old  song  re-sung  i  p.  4. 
the  christmas  babe  i  p.  5. 
the  first  nowell  :  p.  6. 
about  the  middle  hour  i  p.  7. 
the  christmas  bird  :  p.  8. 
singing  stars  :  p.  10. 
christmas  eve  in  ireland:  p.  ii. 

BOOK     II. 

EPIPHANY  :    P.    17. 

THE    MAN    OF   THE    HOUSE!    P.    1 7. 

THE    WEEPING    BABE:    P.    1 9. 

MATER   DEI  :    P.    20. 

THE    VISION    OF   JESUS  :    P.    21. 

BOOK     III. 

SHEEP   AND    LAMBS  :   P.    25. 
BETHLEHEM  :    P.    26. 
ST.    FRANCIS    TO   THE    BIRDS  :    P.    27. 
THE    MAKING    OF   BIRDS  :    P.    29. 

THE  abbot's  bees:  p.  31. 
THE  birds'  bargain  :  P.  32. 

V 


454493 


OF    ST.    FRANCIS   AND    THE    ASS  !    P.    33. 
THE    ASS    SPEAKS  :    P.    35. 

god's  bird  :  P.  37. 

BOOK     IV. 

THE    GARDEN  :    P.    4I. 
INTROIT  :    P.    42. 
PLANTING    BULBS  :    P.    43. 
THE    TREE  :    P.    4$. 
LEAVES  :    P.    46. 
ROSA    MYSTICA  I    P.    47. 

B  O  O  K     V. 

THE  christening:  p.  51. 

THE    ONLY    CHILD  *.    P.    52. 

LOVE    COMFORTLESS  :    P.    53. 

LAMBS  :    P.    54. 

THE    SHEEPFOLD  :    P.    54. 

THE    NEW    MOON    AT    CHRISTMAS  :    P.    55. 

THE    CHILD  :    P.    57. 

BOOK     VI. 

CHRISTMAS    COMMUNION  :    P.    6 1 . 
AFTER    COMMUNION  :    P.    62. 
THE    PROUD    LADY  I    P.    64. 
LVX    IN    TENEBRIS  :    P.    66. 
THE    NIGHT    COMETH  !    P.    66. 
THE    COLLOQUY  :    P.    67. 
VOTIVE   OFFERING  :    P.    69. 

vi 


BOOK     VII. 

MICHAEL   THE    ARCHANGEL  :    P.    73. 

THE    DREAM    OF    MARY  :    P.    74. 

OF   AN    ANGEL  :    P.    75. 

FOUR    ANGELS  I    P.    77. 

THE    LEPER  I    P.    78. 

GOOD    FRIDAY  I    P.    78. 

THE    WOUNDS  :    P.    79. 

EASTER  :    P.    80. 

APRIL    IN    IRELAND  I    P.    82. 

RESURRECTION  I    P.    83. 

SECOND    SIGHT  :    P.    84. 

BOOK     VIII. 

THE    LITTLE    PRAISES  :    P.    89. 

AN    ECHO  :    P.    90. 

AN    ANTHEM    IN    HEAT  I    P.    92. 

THANKSGIVING  I    P.    93. 

THE    QUIET    NIGHTS  :    P.    94. 

THE    SERVANTS  I    P.    96. 

ALL    IN    ALL  I    P.    98. 

THE    FLYING    WHEEL  :    P.    lOO. 

THE    EPITAPH  I    P.    lOI. 


▼II 


BOOK     I 


i|))THE    FLOWER    OF    PEACE^ 


BOOK      I 


"adveniat  regnvm  tvvm 

Thy  kingdom  come  !     Yea,  bid  it  come. 

But  when  Thy  kingdom  first  began 
On  earth,  Thy  kingdom  was  a  home, 

A  child,  a  woman,  and  a  man. 

The  child  was  in  the  midst  thereof, 
O,  blessed  Jesus,  holiest  One  ! 

The  centre  and  the  fount  of  love, 
Mary  and  Joseph's  little  Son. 

Wherever  on  the  earth  shall  be 
A  child,  a  woman,  and  a  man, 

Imaging  that  sweet  trinity 

Wherewith  Thy  kingdom  first  began. 

Establish  there  Thy  kingdom  !     Yea, 

And  o'er  that  trinity  of  love 
Send  down,  as  in  Thy  appointed  day. 

The  brooding  spirit  of  Thy  Dove  ! 
3 


AN    OLD    SONG    RE-SUNG 

I  SAW  three  ships  a-sailing, 

A-sailing  on  the  sea, 

The  first  her  masts  were  silver, 

Her  hull  was  ivory. 

The  snows  came  drifting  softly, 

And  lined  her  white  as  wool ; 

Oh,  Jesus,  Son  of  Mary, 

Thy  cradle  beautiful ! 

I  saw  three  ships  a-sailing, 
The  next  was  red  as  blood. 
Her  decks  shone  like  a  ruby, 
Encrimsoned  all  her  wood. 
Her  main-mast  stood  up  lonely, 
A  lonely  Cross  and  stark. 
Oh,  Jesus,  Son  of  Mary, 
Bring  all  men  to  that  ark  ! 

I  saw  three  ships  a-sailing, 
The  third  for  cargo  bore 
The  souls  of  men  redeemed. 
That  shall  be  slaves  no  more. 
The  lost  beloved  faces, 
I  saw  them  glad  and  free. 
Oh,  Jesus,  Son  of  Mary, 
When  wilt  Thou  come  for  me  ? 


THE    CHRISTMAS    BABE 

All  in  the  night  when  sleeping 

I  lay  in  slumber's  chain, 
The  Christmas  Babe  came  weeping 

Outside  my  window-pane. 
The  Christmas  Child  whom  faithless 

Men  turn  from  their  hearthstone — 
My  dream  was  dumb  and  breathless, 

The  Christmas  Babe  made  moan. 

The  small  hands  beat  impatient 

Upon  my  close-locked  door. 
The  small  hands  they  have  fashioned 

The  world,  the  stars,  and  more. 
He  heard  no  sound  of  coming. 

His  cries  broke  wild  and  keen  : 
The  Christmas  Babe  went  roaming 

For  one  to  take  Him  in. 

A  burning  bush  of  splendour 

Enfolds  the  Christmas  Child, 
Like  some  meek  bird  and  tender 

In  gold  thorns  undefiled. 
I  listen  long  to  hear  Him 

Come  crying  at  my  door. 
Voices  of  night  I  fear  them. 

And  He  comes  by  no  more. 


THE    FIRST    NOWELL 

Was  the  Heaven  dark  then, 

Robbed  of  its  light, 
When  little  Jesus  came  to  men 

On  a  Christmas  night  ? 

Was  it  dark  and  dead  ? 

Yea,  lonesome  to  see  : 
All  for  the  little  golden  head 

That  lay  on  Mary's  knee. 

Certes,  Heavenly  folk 

Fled  after  Him  w^here 
He  lay  amid  the  harmless  flock 

In  the  stable  bare. 

Certes,  stars  likewise 

Trooped  from  the  sky. 
And  when  He  oped  His  lovely  eyes 

Sang  Lullaby. 

Certes,  Heaven  was  dim. 

Its  lights  all  fled  away. 
Yea,  Cherubim  and  Seraphim 

Knelt  in  the  hay. 

Powers,  Principalities, 

Archangels  in  a  band. 
Before  the  Baby  bent  their  knees. 

Kissing  His  hand, 
6 


Who  lay  so  small  and  soft, 

New  from  His  Mother's  womb. 

Since  Heaven  was  in  the  cattle's  craft 
Heaven  was  in  gloom. 


ABOUT    THE    MIDDLE    HOUR 

About  the  middle  hour  of  night, 
When  Northern  streamers  fly, 

Betwixt  day-light  and  candle-light, 
Was  heard  the  Babe's  first  cry. 

The  ass  said  to  the  ox  :  Brother, 
Right  honoured  are  we  twain 

Who  house  the  Babe  and  Babe's  Mother 
Against  the  night  and  rain. 

The  ox  him  answered  :  Yea,  brother  : 

Blessed  our  grass  to  yield 
To  bed  the  Lord  and  Lord's  Mother, 

Who  else  had  lain  afield. 

O,  what  is  fast,  and  what  is  feast 
Where  such  sweet  fare  is  spread  ? 

The  Baby  at  His  Mother's  breast, 
With  her  dear  milk  is  fed. 

And  now  :  Come  kneel  with  me,  brother. 

This  goodly  sight  to  see. 
Before  the  Child  and  Child's  Mother, 

The  twain  have  bent  the  knee. 
7 


And  then  :  Come  weep  with  me,  brother, 

For  stony  hearts  of  men. 
For  ruth  of  Babe  and  Babe's  Mother, 

Their  tears  fall  down  like  rain. 

With  streamers  in  the  Northern  skies, 

While  Bedlam  slept  in  sin, 
The  Lord  hath  opened  Paradise 

And  bade  the  beasts  come  in. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    BIRD 

As  I  went  out  a-walking 
In  the  dark  of  the  wood, 

I  heard  a  bird  talking 
Wore  a  golden  hood. 

Where  he  perched  in  the  hollies 

It  was  holy  ground. 
His  cloak  of  gold  feathers 

Shed  glory  around. 

I  bring  you  good  tidings, 

He  sang,  gentles  all, 
Christ  is  born  in  stable. 

To  lift  men  from  thrall ! 

From  death  and  God's  anger 

By  the  holly  tree  ! 
I  bring  you  good  tidings 

Of  salvation,  quoth  he. 
8 


I  bring  you  good  tidings — 
He  rose  like  a  flame — 

Christ  is  born  in  Bethlehem 
Of  a  right  noble  dame. 

His  body  was  golden 

From  the  head  to  the  feet, 
With  Glory  in  Excelsis 

His  praise  did  repeat. 

He  was  neither  a  linnet, 
Nor  a  robin  redbreast : 

That  was  no  golden  eagle 
With  a  star  for  crest. 

He  went  singing  and  soaring 
From  the  holly  tree  : 

I  bring  you  good  tidings, 
O  gentles,  quoth  he. 

As  I  went  out  a-walking 

In  the  holly  shaw, 
I  heard  a  bird  talking, 

Great  glory  I  saw. 

The  dark  shining  holly. 
It  was  splashed  with  red. 

I  bring  you  good  tidings 
Of  a  Saviour,  he  said. 


SINGING    STARS 

"What  sawest  thou,  Orion,  thou  hunter  of  the 

star-lands, 
On   that  night   star-sown  and  azure  when    thou 

cam'st  in  splendour  sweeping. 
And  amid  thy  starry  brethren  from  the  near  lands 

and  the  far  lands 
All  the  night  above  a  stable  on  the  earth  thy  watch 

wert  keeping  ? " 

"  O,  I  saw  the  stable  surely,  and  the  young  Child 

and  the  Mother, 
And  the  placid  beasts  still  gazing  with  their  mild 

eyes  full  of  loving. 
And  I  saw  the  trembling  radiance  of  the  Star,  my 

lordliest  brother. 
Light  the  earth  and  all  the  heavens  as  he  kept  his 

guard  unmoving. 

"  There  were  kings  that  came  from  Eastward  with 

their  ivory,  spice,  and  sandal. 
With    gold   fillets    in    their   dark  hair,  and  gold- 

broidered  robes  and  stately  ; 
And  the  shepherds,  gazing  starward,  over  yonder 

hill  did  wend  all. 
And  the  silly  sheep  went  meekly,  and   the  wise 

dog  marvelled  greatly. 

**  O,  we  knew,  we  stars,  the  stable  held  our  King, 

His  glory  shaded, 
That  His  baby  hands  were  poising  all  the  spheres 

and  constellations, 

lO 


Berenice  shook  her  hair  down,  h'ke  a  shower  of  star- 
dust  braided, 

And  Arcturus,  pale  as  silver,  bent  his  brows  in 
adoration. 

"  The  stars  sang  all  together,  sang  their  love-songs 

with  the  angels. 
With  the    Cherubim  and  Seraphim  their   shrilly 

trumpets  blended. 
They  have  never  sung  together  since  that  night 

of  great  evangels. 
And  the  young  Child  in  the  manger,  and  the  time 

of  bondage  ended." 


CHRISTMAS    EVE    IN    IRELAND 

Not  a  cabin  in  the  Glen  shuts  its  door  to-night. 

Lest  the  travellers  abroad  knock  in  vain  and  pass, 
Just  a  humble  gentleman  and  a  lady  bright 
And  she  to  be  riding  on  an  ass. 

Grief  is  on  her  goodman,  that  the  inns  deny 

Shelter  to  his  dearest  Dear  in  her  hour  of  need  ; 
That  her  Babe  of  royal  birth,  starriest,  most  high, 
Has  not  where  to  lay  His  head. 

Must  they  turn  in  sadness  to  the  cattle  byre 

And  the  kind  beasts  once  again  shake  the  bed  for 
Him? 
Not  a  cabin  in  the  Glen  but  heaps  wood  on  the  fire 
And  keeps  its  lamps  a-trim. 
II 


Now  the  woman  makes  the  bed,  smooths  the  linen 
sheet, 
Spreads  the  blanket,  soft  and  white,  that   her 
own  hands  spun. 
Whisht!   is  that  the  ass  that  comes,  on   his  four 
little  feet. 

Carrying  the  Holy  One  ? 


Nay,  'twas  but  the  wind  and  rain,  the  sand  on  the 
floor. 
A  bitter  night,  yea,  cruel,  for  folk  to  be  abroad. 
And  she,  not  fit  for  hardship,  outside  a  fast-closed 
door. 

And  her  Son  the  Son  of  God  ! 


Is  it  the  moon  that's  turning  the  dark  world  to 
bright  ? 
Is  it  some  wonderful  dawning  in  the  night  and 
cold  ? 
Whisht!  did  you  see  a  shining  One  and  Him  to 
be  clad  in  light 

And  the  wings  and  head  of  Him  gold  ? 

Who   are   then   those   people,   hurrying,   hasting, 
those. 
And  they  all  looking  up  in  the  sky  this  night  of 
wondrous  things  ? 
Oh,  those  I  think  be  shepherdmen,  and  they  that 
follow  close 

I  think  by  their  look  be  kings. 

12 


Not  a  cabin  in  the  Glen  shuts  the  door  till  day, 
Lest  the  heavenly  travellers  come,  knock  again 
in  vain. 
All  the  night  the  dulcimers,  flutes,  and  hautboys 
play. 

And  the  angels  walk  with  men. 


13 


BOOK      II 


EPIPHANY 

The  Kings  have  brought  Him  ambergris, 
The  Babe,  whose  one  delight  it  is 

To  creep  and  nest 
In  the  warm  snows  of  Mother's  breast. 

The  Kings  have  brought  him  frankincense, 
Who  hath  no  need,  this  Innocence, 

Of  aught  beside 
His  Mother's  milk  in  a  full  tide. 

O'er  Mother's  breast  His  fingers  go. 
Constraining  that  sweet  stream  to  flow. 

So  soft  and  small. 
To  whom  that  milky  world  is  all. 

The  Kings  have  brought  Him  gold  and  myrrh. 
This  new-born  thing  whose  Heaven's  in  her  ; 

To  make  His  bed 
In  the  sweet  place  from  which  He  fed. 

Myrrh,  spikenard,  such  precious  things. 
The  Kings  have  brought  the  King  of  Kings, 

Who,  dronken-deep, 
Falls  like  a  full-fed  lamb  asleep. 


THE    MAN    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Joseph,  honoured  from  sea  to  sea, 
This  is  your  name  that  pleases  me, 
-^-^  "  Man  of  the  House." 

17  B 


I  see  you  rise  at  the  dawn  and  light 
The  fire  and  blow  till  the  flame  is  bright. 

I  see  you  take  the  pitcher  and  carry 
The  deep  well-water  for  Jesus  and  Mary. 

You  knead  the  corn  for  the  bread  so  fine, 
Gather  them  grapes  from  the  hanging  vine. 

There  are  little  feet  that  are  soft  and  slow, 
Follow  you  whithersoever  you  go. 

There's  a  little  face  at  your  workshop  door, 
A  little  one  sits  down  on  your  floor : 

Holds  His  hands  for  the  shavings  curled, 

The  soft  little  hands  that  have  made  the  world. 

Mary  calls  you  :  the  meal  is  ready  : 

You  swing  the  Child  to  your  shoulder  steady. 

I  see  your  quiet  smile  as  you  sit 

And  watch  the  little  son  thrive  and  eat. 

The  vine  curls  by  the  window  space, 
The  wings  of  angels  cover  the  face. 

Up  in  the  rafters,  polished  and  olden, 
There's  a  Dove  that  broods  and   his  wings  are 
golden. 

x8 


You  who  kept  Them  through  shine  and;storm, 
A  staff,  a  shelter  kindly  and  warm, 

Father  of  Jesus,  husband  of  Mary, 
Hold  us  your  lilies  for  sanctuary  ! 

Joseph,  honoured  from  sea  to  sea. 
Guard  me  mine  and  my  own  roof-tree, 
"  Man  of  the  House  "  ! 


THE    WEEPING    BABE 

She  kneels  by  the  cradle 
Where  Jesus  doth  lie  ; 

Singing,  Lullaby,  my  Baby  ! 
But  why  dost  Thou  cry  ? 

The  babes  of  the  village 
Smile  sweetly  in  sleep  ; 

And  lullaby,  my  Baby, 
That  ever  dost  weep  ! 

I've  wrapped  Thee  in  linen. 
The  gift  of  the  Kings  ; 

And  wool,  soft  and  fleecy, 
The  kind  Shepherd  brings. 

There's  a  dove  on  the  trellis. 
And  wings  in  the  door. 

And  the  gold  shoes  of  Angels 
Are  bright  on  our  floor, 
19 


Then  lullaby,  my  Baby  ! 

I've  fed  Thee  with  milk, 
And  wrapped  Thee  in  kisses 

As  soft  as  the  silk. 

And  here  are  red  roses, 
And  grapes  from  the  vine, 

And  a  lamb  trotting  softly, 
Thy  playfellow  fine. 

Wake  up,  little  Jesus, 

Whom  naught  can  defile  ; 

All  gifts  will  I  give  Thee 
An  Thou  wilt  but  smile. 

But  it's  lullaby,  my  Baby  ! 

And  mournful  am  I, 
Thou  cherished  little  Jesus, 

That  still  Thou  wilt  cry. 


MATER    DEI 

She  looked  to  east,  she  looked  to  west, 

Her  eyes,  unfathomable,  mild, 
That  saw  both  worlds,  came  home  to  rest, — 

Home  to  her  own  sweet  child. 
God's  golden  head  was  at  her  breast. 

What  need  to  look  o'er  land  and  sea  ? 

What  could  the  winged  ships  bring  to  her  ? 
What  gold  or  gems  of  price  might  be. 

Ivory  or  miniver. 
Since  God  Himself  lay  on  her  knee  ? 

20 


What  could  th'  intense  blue  heaven  keep 
To  draw  her  eyes  and  thoughts  so  high  ? 

All  heaven  was  where  her  Boy  did  leap, 
Where  her  foot  quietly 

Went  rocking  the  dear  God  asleep. 

The  angel  folk  fared  up  and  down 
A  Jacob's  Ladder  hung  between 

Her  quiet  chamber  and  God's  Town. 
She  saw  unawed,  serene  ; 

Since  God  Himself  played  by  her  gown. 


THE    VISION    OF    JESUS 

"  Sweetest  Son,  what  dost  Thou  see  ? 

In  Thine  eyes  groweth  the  shadow. 
Dost  Thou  weary  of  earth  and  me 

While  we  wander  in  this  sweet  meadow  ? 

"  Flowers  are  springing  all  gold  before 
My  little  Son,  who  shall  be  my  Man  ; 

Meadow  grasses  bow  to  adore 

The  sweetest  flower  since  the  world  began. 

"  Little  Jesus  that  turnest  from  me, 

What  dost  Thou  grieve  for,  sad  and  apart  1 

Thine  eyes  see  something  I  cannot  see ; 

Why  art  Thou  mournful,  little  dear  heart  ? ' 

"  Mother  of  mine,  I  look  on  a  place 
And  men  asleep  'neath  a  darkling  sky  ; 

One  crieth  out  with  a  stricken  face. 
Oh  !  Mother,  I  fear  that  man  is  L" 

21 


"  Thou  dream'st,  small  Son  !     Is  naught  to  fear. 

Sit  and  play  'neath  the  blooming  bough. 
Here  be  thine  angels,  merry  and  dear. 

Thy  Father  will  send  Thee  guards  enow." 

"  But,  Mother,  I  see  a  rabble  rout, 

And  one  among  them  is  dragged  to  die. 

^  Crucifige  ! '  the  voices  shout. 

Oh  !  Mother,  I  fear  that  man  is  I." 

"  Peace,  dear  Lordkin  ;  here  be  Thy  birds. 
The  kid.  Thy  sweeting,  the  lamb,  the  dove  ; 

Thy  Father  will  send  Thee  a  million  swords 
Ere  any  harm  Thee,  my  Baby  Love." 

"  Oh  !  Mother,  I  see  a  man  of  grief 
Nailed  to  a  cross  on  a  hilltop  high ; 

His  head  is  bowed  betwixt  thief  and  thief — 
Oh  !  Mother,  I  think  that  man  is  I." 

"  Peace,  little  Birdkin  ;  they  dare  not  do  it ; 

Here  runs  little  John  to  play  with  Thee. 
Rose  of  Sharon  and  Jesse's  Root, 

I,  Thy  Mother,  will  stay  with  Thee." 

She  kisses  her  Rose,  His  hands.  His  feet, 
"  It  was  but  dreaming,  my  Son  so  small." 

But  over  her  heart,  in  the  noontide  heat. 
The  shadows  of  three  gaunt  crosses  fall. 


22 


BOOK     III 


SHEEP    AND    LAMBS 

All  in  the  April  evening, 

April  airs  were  abroad  ; 
The  sheep  with  their  little  lambs 

Passed  me  by  on  the  road. 

The  sheep  with  their  little  lambs 
Passed  me  by  on  the  road  ; 

All  in  the  April  evening 

I  thought  on  the  Lamb  of  God. 

The  lambs  were  weary,  and  crying 

With  a  weak,  human  cry. 
I  thought  on  the  Lamb  of  God 

Going  meekly  to  die. 

Up  in  the  blue,  blue  mountains 

Dewy  pastures  are  sweet ; 
Rest  for  the  little  bodies. 

Rest  for  the  little  feet. 

But  for  the  Lamb  of  God 

Up  on  the  hilltop  green 
Only  a  cross  of  shame 

Two  stark  crosses  between. 

All  in  the  April  evening, 

April  airs  were  abroad  ; 
I  saw  the  sheep  with  their  lambs, 

And  thought  on  the  Lamb  of  God. 

25 


BETHLEHEM 

Whir  E  man  was  all  too  marred  with  sin, 
The  ass,  the  ox  were  bidden  in. 

Where  angels  were  unmeet  to  come 
These  humble  entered  Holydom. 

Their  innocent  eyes  and  full  of  awe 
Saw  the  fulfilment  of  the  law. 

There  in  the  stable  with  the  beast 

The  Christmas  Child  hath  spread  His  feast. 

These  gave  their  bed  and  eke  their  board 
To  be  a  cradle  for  their  Lord. 

Their  honey-breath,  their  tears  all  mild, 
Warmed  in  the  cold  the  new-born  Child. 

These  His  adorers  were  before 

The  Kings  and  Shepherds  thronged  the  door. 

And  where  no  angels  knelt  there  kneeled 
The  innocent  creatures  of  the  field. 

O  simple  ones,  much  honourW  ; 
He  who  oppresses  you  indeed 

Oppresses  His  kind  hosts  that  lay 
Once  in  the  stable  on  the  hay. 


26 


ST.    FRANCIS    TO    THE    BIRDS 

Little  sisters,  the  birds  : 

We  must  praise  God,  you  and  I — 
You,  with  songs  that  fill  the  sky, 

I,  with  halting  words. 

All  things  tell  His  praise. 

Woods  and  waters  thereof  sing, 
Summer,  Winter,  Autumn,  Spring, 

And  the  nights  and  days. 

Yea,  and  cold  and  heat. 

And  the  sun  and  stars  and  moon, 
Sea  with  her  monotonous  tune. 

Rain  and  hail  and  sleet. 

And  the  winds  of  heaven. 
And  the  solemn  hills  of  blue. 
And  the  brown  earth  and  the  dew, 

And  the  thunder  even, 

And  the  flowers'  sweet  breath. 

All  things  make  one  glorious  voice  ; 
Life  with  fleeting  pains  and  joys, 

And  our  sister.  Death. 

Little  flowers  of  air. 

With  your  feathers  soft  and  sleek. 
And  your  bright  brown  eyes  and  meek, 

He  hath  made  you  fair. 
27 


He  hath  taught  to  you 

Skill  to  weave  in  tree  and  thatch 
Nests  where  happy  mothers  hatch 

Speckled  eggs  of  blue, 

And  hath  children  given. 

When  the  soft  heads  overbrim 

The  brown  nests,  then  thank  ye  Him 

In  the  clouds  of  heaven. 

Also  in  your  lives 

Live  His  laws  Who  loveth  you. 

Husbands,  be  ye  kind  and  true  ; 
Be  home-keeping,  wives — 

Love  not  gossiping ; 

Stay  at  home  and  keep  the  nest ; 

Fly  not  here  and  there  in  quest 
Of  the  newest  thing. 

Live  as  brethren  live  : 

Love  be  in  each  heart  and  mouth  ; 

Be  not  envious,  be  not  wroth. 
Be  not  slow  to  give. 

When  ye  build  the  nest. 

Quarrel  not  o'er  straw  or  wool ; 

He  who  hath  be  bountiful 
To  the  neediest. 

Be  not  pufFed  nor  vain 

Of  your  beauty  or  your  worth, 
Of  your  children  or  your  birth. 

Or  the  praise  you  gain. 
28 


Eat  not  greedily : 

Sometimes  for  sweet  mercy's  sake, 
Worm  or  insect  spare  to  take ; 

Let  it  crawl  or  fly. 

See  ye  sing  not  near 

To  our  church  on  holy  day, 
Lest  the  human-folk  should  stray 

From  their  prayers  to  hear. 

Now  depart  in  peace  : 

In  God's  name  I  bless  each  one  ; 

May  your  days  be  long  i'  the  sun 
And  your  joys  increase. 

And  remember  me. 

Your  poor  brother  Francis,  who 
Loves  you,  and  gives  thanks  to  you 

For  this  courtesy. 

Sometimes  when  ye  sing. 

Name  my  name,  that  He  may  take 
Pity  for  the  dear  song's  sake 

On  my  shortcoming. 


THE    MAKING    OF    BIRDS 

God  made  Him  birds  in  a  pleasant  humour ; 

Tired  of  planets  and  suns  was  He. 
He  said  :  "  I  will  add  a  glory  to  summer. 

Gifts  for  my  creatures  banished  from  Me  ! ' 
29 


He  had  a  thought  and  it  set  Him  smiling 
Of  the  shape  of  a  bird  and  its  glancing  head, 

Its  dainty  air  and  its  grace  beguiling  : 

"  I  will  make  feathers,"  the  Lord  God  said. 

He  made  the  robin  ;  He  made  the  swallow  ; 

His  deft  hands  moulding  the  shape  to  His  mood, 
The  thrush  and  lark  and  the  finch  to  follow. 

And  laughed  to  see  that  His  work  was  good. 

He  who  has  given  men  gift  of  laughter, 
Made  in  His  image  ;  He  fashioned  fit 

The  blink  of  the  owl  and  the  stork  thereafter. 
The  little  wren  and  the  long-tailed  tit. 

He  spent  in  the  making  His  wit  and  fancies  ; 

The  wing-feathers  He  fashioned  them  strong ; 
Deft  and  dear  as  daisies  and  pansies. 

He  crowned  His  work  with  the  gift  of  song. 

"Dearlings,"    He    said,    "make    songs    for    My 
praises  ! " 

He  tossed  them  loose  to  the  sun  and  wind. 
Airily  sweet  as  pansies  and  daisies  ; 

He  taught  them  to  build  a  nest  to  their  mind. 

The  dear  Lord  God  of  His  glories  weary — 
Christ  our  Lord  had  the  heart  of  a  boy — 

Made  Him  birds  in  a  moment  merry. 
Bade  them  soar  and  sing  for  His  joy. 


30 


THE    ABBOT  S    BEES 

In  the  warm  garden  to  and  fro 
Goes  Father  Abbot,  old  and  slow, 
And  reads  his  breviary,  lifting  oft 
His  mild  eyes  to  the  blue  aloft. 

He  lays  his  finger  in  the  page. 
Sniffs  at  the  sweets  of  thyme  and  sage. 
Pauses  beside  the  lavender, 
Where  bees  hum  in  the  scented  air. 

Close  by  in  the  midsummer  day 
His  bearded  monks  are  making  hay. 
Murmuring  as  they  pass  each  other, 
"  Praise  be  to  Jesu  !  "     "  Amen,  brother  ! 

The  bees  hum  o'er  the  mignonette 
And  the  white  clover,  still  dew-wet, 
And  in  a  velvet  troop  together 
Fly  off*  to  rifle  the  sweet  heather. 

The  air  is  full  of  sleepiness. 

The  drone  of  insects  and  the  bees ; 

The  summer  day  nods  unawares 

As  an  old  monk  might  at  his  prayers. 

The  windows  of  the  novitiate 
Are  open  ever  early  and  late  ; 
And  hear  the  voices  like  the  hum 
The  bees  make  in  the  honeycomb ! 
31 


The  tall  lads,  innocent  and  meek, 
Gabble  the  Latin  and  the  Greek. 
"  Now  hear  my  bees  in  the  clover-blooms  ! ' 
He  saith  to  the  old  monk  who  comes. 

"  Do  you  not  hear  them,  Brother  Giles  ? " 
Listening  with  side-long  head  he  smiles. 
"  Giles,  do  you  hear  the  novices. 
That  are  the  Lord's  bees  and  my  bees  ? 

"  Giles,  do  you  hear  them  making  honey 
All  through  the  scented  hours  and  sunny  ? 
They  will  make  honey  many  a  day 
When  you  and  I  are  lapped  in  clay." 

As  though  he  heard  the  sweetest  strain, 
He  smiles  and  listens,  smiles  again. 
Monks  in  the  meadow  pass  each  other  : 
"  Praise  be  to  Jesu  !  "     "  Amen,  brother  !  " 


THE    BIRDS      BARGAIN        . 

"  O  SPARE  my  cherries  in  the  net," 
Brother  Benignus  prayed  ;  "  and  I 
Summer  and  winter,  shine  and  wet. 
Will  pile  the  blackbirds'  table  high." 

"  O  spare  my  youngling  peas,"  he  prayed, 
"  That  for  the  Abbot's  table  be  ; 
And  every  blackbird  shall  be  fed. 
Yea,  they  shall  have  their  fill,"  said  he* 
32 


His  prayer,  his  vow,  the  blackbirds  heard, 
And  spared  his  shining  garden-plot. 
In  abstinence  went  every  bird, 
All  the  old  thieving  ways  forgot. 

He  kept  his  promise  to  his  friends, 
And  daily  set  them  finest  fare 
Of  corn  and  meal,  and  manchet-ends. 
With  marrowy  bones  for  winter  bare. 

Brother  Benignus  died  in  grace : 
The  brethren  keep  his  trust,  and  feed 
The  blackbirds  in  this  pleasant  place. 
Purged,  as  dear  Heaven,  from  strife  and  greed. 

The  blackbirds  sing  the  whole  year  long, 
Here  where  they  keep  their  promise  given 
And  do  the  mellowing  fruit  no  wrong. 
Brother  Benignus  smiles  in  Heaven. 


OF    ST.    FRANCIS    AND    THE    ASS 

Our  father,  ere  he  went 
Out  with  his  brother,  Death, 
Smiling  and  well  content 
As  a  bridegroom  goeth. 
Sweetly  forgiveness  prayed 
From  man  or  beast  whom  he 
Had  ever  injured 
Or  burdened  needlessly. 

33  C 


*'  Verily,"  then  said  he, 
"  I  crave  before  I  pass 
Forgiveness  full  and  free 
Of  my  little  brother,  the  ass. 
Many  a  time  and  oft, 
When  winds  and  ways  were  hot, 
He  hath  borne  me  cool  and  soft 
And  service  grudged  me  not. 

"  And  once  did  it  betide 
There  was,  unseen  of  me, 
A  gall  upon  his  side 
That  suffered  grievously. 
And  once  his  manger  was 
Empty  and  bare  and  brown. 
(Praise  God  for  sweet,  dry  grass 
That  Bethlehem  folk  shook  down  !) 

"  Consider,  brethren,"  said  he, 
"  Our  little  brother  ;  how  mild, 
How  patient,  he  will  be. 
Though  men  are  fierce  and  wild. 
His  coat  is  grey  and  fine, 
His  eyes  are  kind  with  love  ; 
This  little  brother  of  mine 
Is  gentle  as  the  dove. 

"  Consider  how  such  an  one 
Beheld  our  Saviour  born. 
And  carried  Him,  full-grown, 
Through  Eastern  streets  one  morn. 
34 


For  this  the  Cross  is  laid 
Upon  him  for  a  sign. 
Greatly  is  honoured 
This  little  brother  of  mineJ 


And  even  while  he  spake, 
Down  in  the  stable  stall 
His  little  ass  'gan  shake 
And  turned  its  face  to  the  wall. 
Down  fell  the  heavy  tear  ; 
Its  gaze  so  mournful  was, 
Fra  Leo,  standing  near, 
Pitied  the  little  ass. 


That  night  our  father  died, 
All  night  the  kine  did  low  : 
The  ass  went  misty-eyed. 
With  patient  tears  and  slow. 
The  very  birds  on  wings 
Made  mournful  cries  in  the  air. 
Amen  !     All  living  things 
Our  father's  brethren  were. 


THE     ASS    SPEAKS 

I  AM  the  little  ass  of  Christ. 

I  carried  Him  ere  He  was  born. 
And  bore  Him  to  His  bitter  Tryst 

Unwilling,  that  Palm  Sunday  morn. 
35 


I  was  His  Mother's  servant,  I, 

I  carried  her  from  Nazareth 
Up  to  the  shining  hill-country 

To  see  the  Lady  Elizabeth. 

The  stones  were  many  in  my  road, 

By  valleys  steeper  than  a  cup 
I,  trembling  for  my  heavenly  load, 

Went  cat-foot,  since  I  held  It  up. 

To  me  the  wonderful  charge  was  given. 

I,  even  the  little  ass,  did  go 
Bearing  the  very  weight  of  Heaven, 

So  I  crept  cat-foot,  sure  and  slow. 

Again  that  night  that  He  was  born 
I  carried  my  dear  burdens  twain, 

And  heard  dull  people's  insolent  scorn 
Bidding  them  to  the  night  and  rain. 

I  knelt  beside  my  brother  ox~ 

And  saw  the  very  Birth  1     O  Love, 

And  awe  and  wonder  !  little  folks 
May  see  such  sights  nor  die  thereof. 

The  chilly  Babe  we  breathed  upon, 

Warmed  with  our  breath  the  frozen  air ; 

Kneeling  beside  Our  Lady's  gown 
His  only  comfort  saving  Her. 

I  am  beaten,  weary-foot,  ill-fed,^ 
Men  curse  me  :  yet  I  bear  withal 

Christ's  Cross  betwixt  my  shoulders  laid. 
So  I  am  honoured  though  I'm  small. 

36 


I  bore  Christ  Jesus  and  I  bear 

His  Cross  upon  my  rough,  grey  back. 
Dear  Christian  people,  pray  you,  spare 

The  whip,  for  Jesus  Christ,  His  sake. 


GOD  S    BIRD 

Nay,  not  Thine  eagle.  Lord  ; 

No  golden  eagle  I, 
That  creep  half-fainting  on  the  sward 

And  have  not  wings  to  fly. 

Nor  yet  Thy  swallow  dear, 
That,  faring  home  to  Thee, 

Looks  on  the  storm  and  has  no  fear 
And  broods  above  the  sea. 

Nor  yet  Thy  tender  dove. 

Meek  as  Thyself,  Thou  Lamb  ! 

I  would  I  were  the  dove.  Thy  love. 
And  not  the  thing  I  am  ! 

But  take  me  in  Thy  hand 
To  be  Thy  sparrow,  then  ; 

Were  two  sparrows  in  Holy  Land, 
One  farthing  bought  the  twain. 

Make  me  Thy  sparrow,  then. 
That  trembles  in  Thy  hold  ; 

And  who  shall  pluck  me  out  again 
And  cast  me  in  the  cold  ? 
37 


But  if  I  fall  at  last, 

A  thing  of  little  price, 
If  Thou  one  thought  on  me  hast  cast, 

Lo,  then  my  Paradise  ! 


38 


BOOK      IV 


THE    GARDEN 

/ 

Our  Lord,  Christ  Jesus,  Son  of  God, 
Loved  gardens  while  on  earth  He  abode. 

There  was  a  garden  where  He  took 
His  pleasures  oft,  by  Kedron's  brook. 
There  in  His  uttermost  agony 
He  found  a  pillow  whereon  to  lie 
And  anguish  while  His  disciples  slept. 
Be  sure  the  little  grass-blades  kept 
Vigil  with  Him,  and  the  grey  olives 
Shivered  and  sighed  like  one  that  grieves  : 
And  the  flowers  hid  their  eyes  for  fear ! 
His  garden  was  His  comforter. 
There  to  the  quiet  heart  He  made 
He  came,  and  it  upheld  His  head 
Before  the  angel  did.     Therefore 
Blessed  be  gardens  evermore  ! 

Christ  Jesus  in  the  sad  world's  dearth 
Lay  three  days  in  the  lap  of  earth  : 
And  while  He  lay,  stabbed  through,  one  Wound, 
The  garden  waited,  tear-bedrowned. 
Quiet  from  sunrise  to  sunrise. 
The  widowed  flowers  had  veiled  their  eyes ; 
No  Canterbury  bells  did  ring  ; 
Nor  rose  lift  her  burnt-offering  ; 
Nor  primroses  nor  violets. 
Nor  sops-in-wine  nor  mignonettes. 
But  thought  upon  the  thorns  and  spears 
And  on  the  blessed  Mary's  tears. 
41 


All  in  a  Truce  of  God,  a  peace, 

The  garden  rocked  Him  on  her  knees. 

But  O  !  in  the  beautiful  rose-red  day 
Who  comes  a-walking  down  this  way  ? 
Why's  Magdalen  weeping  ?     Ah,  sweet  lady, 
She  knows  not  where  is  her  Lord's  Body  ! 
Sweet  Magdalen,  see  !  here  is  your  Love  ! 
Whom  Solomon's-seal  and  the  sweet  clove 
Brush  with  their  lips  as  He  goes  by ; 
And  love-lies-bleeding  and  rosemary. 
Now  bid  His  disciples  haste  !     Bring  hither 
His  Mother  and  St.  John  together  ! 
But  ^twas  the  Garden  saw  Htm  rise. 
Wherefore  she  flaunts  her  peacock's  eyes, 
Wherefore  her  birds  sing  low  and  loud. 
The  heart  that  bore  His  sleep  is  proud. 

Because  the  garden  was  His  friend. 
Blessed  be  gardens  world  without  end  ! 

Amen. 

INTROIT 

'TwERE  bliss  to  see  one  lark 

Soar  to  the  azure  dark 

Singing  upon  his  high  celestial  road. 

I  have  seen  many  hundreds  soar,  thank  God. 

To  see  one  spring  begin 
In  her  first  heavenly  green, 
Were  grace  unmeet  for  any  mortal  clod. 
I  have  seen  many  springs  begin,  thank  God  ! 
42 


After  the  lark  the  swallow, 

Blackbird  in  hill  and  hollow, 

Thrushes  and  nightingales  all  roads  I  trod, 

As  though  one  bird  were  not  enough,  thank  God  ! 

Not  one  flower,  but  a  rout 

All  exquisite,  are  out  : 

All  white  and  golden  every  stretch  of  sod, 

As  though  one  flower  were  not  enough,  thank  God  ! 


PLANTING    BULBS 

Setting  my  bulbs  a- row 

In  cold  earth  under  the  grasses. 

Till  the  frost  and  the  snow 

Are  gone  and  the  Winter  passes — 

Sudden  a  footfall  light, 

Sudden  a  bird-call  ringing  ; 

And  these  in  gold  and  in  white 
Shall  rise  with  a  sound  of  winging. 

Airy  and  delicate  all. 

All  go  trooping  and  dancing 
At  Spring's  call  and  footfall. 

Airily  dancing,  advancing. 

In  the  dark  of  the  year. 

Turning  the  earth  so  chilly, 

I  look  to  the  day  of  cheer. 
Primrose  and  daffodilly. 
43 


Turning  the  sods  and  the  clay 
I  think  on  the  poor  sad  people 

Hiding  their  dead  away 

In  the  churchyard,  under  the  steeple. 

All  poor  women  and  men, 
Broken-hearted  and  weeping. 

Their  dead  they  call  on  in  vain. 
Quietly  smiling  and  sleeping. 

Friends,  now  listen  and  hear. 
Give  over  crying  and  grieving. 

There  shall  come  a  day  and  a  year 
When  the  dead  shall  be  as  the  living. 

There  shall  come  a  call,  a  footfall, 
And  the  golden  trumpeters  blowing 

Shall  stir  the  dead  with  their  call. 
Bid  them  be  rising  and  going. 

Then  in  the  daffodil  weather 

Lover  shall  run  to  lover  ; 
Friends  all  trooping  together  ; 

Death  and  Winter  be  over. 

Laying  my  bulbs  in  the  dark, 

Visions  have  I  of  hereafter. 
Lip  to  lip,  breast  to  breast,  hark ! 

No  more  weeping,  but  laughter  ! 


44 


THE    TREE 

When  that  man  was  cast  away 

Out  of  Eden  for  his  sin, 
God  put  by  His  wrath  to  say  : 

"  Now  his  sad  time  shall  begin  ; 

"  My  poor  creature,  made  to  walk 

By  Me  under  forest  trees. 
Made  to  walk  with  Me  and  talk 

When  the  evening  brings  much  ease 

"  Since  a  tree  hath  him  undone. 
My  poor  creature  that  I  planned, 

By  a  Tree  he  shall  be  won. 
Given  again  into  My  Hand." 

God  took  up  a  seed  of  life, 
Planted  it  in  tear-wet  earth  : 

"  My  poor  Adam  and  his  wife 
Shall  have  shade  and  quiet  mirth. 

"This,  My  tree,  shall  grow  and  grow 
Till  its  branches  fill  the  air  ; 

Not  My  groves  of  Heaven  may  show 
Princely  fruit  as  this  shall  bear. 

"  Hanging  head  and  knees,  alack. 
This  shall  bear  a  noble  Flower, 

And  My  Tree  will  give  Me  back 
What  I  lost  by  Eden  bower." 


45 


LEAVES 

Myriads  and  myriads  plumed  their  glistening  wings, 
As  fine  as  any  bird  that  soars  and  sings, 
As  bright  as  fireflies  or  the  dragon-flies, 
Or  birds  of  paradise. 

Myriads  and  myriads  waved  their  sheeny  fans. 
Soft  as  the  dove's  breast,  or  the  pelican's ; 
And  some  were  gold,  and  some  were  green,  and  some 
Pink-lipped,  like  apple-bloom. 

A  low  wind  tossed  the  plumage  all  one  way. 
Rippled  the  gold  feathers,  and  green  and  gray, — 
A  low  wind  that  in  moving  sang  one  song 
All  day  and  all  night  long. 

Sweet  honey  in  the  leafage,  and  cool  dew, 
A  roof  of  stars,  a  tent  of  gold  and  blue  ; 
Silence  and  sound  at  once,  and  dim  green  light. 
To  turn  the  gold  day  night. 

Some  trees  hung  lanterns  out,  and  some  had  stars 
Silver  as  Hesper  and  rose-red  as  Mars  ; 
A  low  wind  flung  the  lanterns  low  and  high, — 
A  low  wind  like  a  sigh. 

Myriads  and  myriads,  more  in  number  than 
The  sea's  sands,  or  its  drops  of  water  wan, 
Sang  one  Name  in  the  rapture  that  is  May, 
With  faces  turned  one  way. 

46 


ROSA    MYSTICA 

This  rose  so  exquisite, 
So  perfect,  so  complete, 
Beauty  beyond  all  price, — 
With  the  hour  it  dies. 

God  makes  Him  roses  fast, 
With  such  magnificent  haste. 
Multitudes,  multitudes. 
In  gardens,  fields,  and  woods. 

The  roses  tell  His  praise 
Their  little  length  of  days  ; 
Testify  to  His  name 
Gold  on  gold,  flame  on  flame. 

They  are  scarce  here,  scarce  blown. 
But  they  are  gone,  are  flown  ; 
The  gardener's  broom  must  sweep  them 
And  in  the  darkness  heap  them. 

Drift  of  rose-leaves  upon 
The  garden-bed,  the  lawn  : 
The  exquisite  thought  of  God 
Is  scattered,  wasted  abroad. 

What  of  the  soul  of  the  rose  ? 
It  shall  not  die  with  those  ; 
It  shall  wake,  shall  live  again 
In  God's  rose-garden. 
47 


It  shall  climb  rose-trellises 
Before  God's  palaces ; 
The  Eternal  Rose  shall  cover 
The  House  of  God  all  over. 

She  shall  breathe  out  her  soul 
And  yet  living,  made  whole, 
Shall  offer  her  oblation 
Out  of  her  purest  passion. 

She  shall  know  all  bliss 
Where  God's  garden  is  : 
The  rose  drinking  her  fill  is 
Of  joy  with  her  sister  lilies. 

Where  the  Water  of  Life  sweet 
Bathes  her  from  head  to  feet, 
The  River  of  Life  flows — 
There  is  the  Rose. 


48 


BOOK      V 


THE    CHRISTENING 

O  CALL  the  child  from  some  kind  saint 

So  quick  to  run  and  save, 
Not  Deirdre  with  the  griefs  acquaint, 

Not  Grania  nor  Maeve. 

Not  Daphne,  Phoebe,  PhyUis,  Prue, 

Nor  any  country  Grace, 
Lest  that  your  gossips  prove  untrue, 

In  some  most  bitter  case. 

In  Heaven  there  stand  carnations  fair 
Beside  our  dear  Lord's  knee — 

Margaret,  Catherine,  Magdalen,  Clare, 
Dorothy,  Cecily. 

And  all  day  long  in  the  still  place 

Their  haloes  fall  and  rise, 
Their  faces  turned  to  the  one  Face, 

The  glory  on  their  eyes. 

Or  give  the  chrisomed  child  to  keep 

To  Mary  of  the  Swords  : 
The  heart  that  held  God's  Son  asleep 

Is  soft  to  babes  and  birds. 

The  world  is  set  with  many  a  snare 
Where  evil  things  affright ; 

Give  her  a  name  that  she  may  wear 
Like  armour  in  God's  sight. 
51 


Give  to  her  little  stumbling  feet 

A  help  most  sure  and  kind, 
That,  when  she  cries,  a  foot  so  fleet 

Run  to  her  like  the  wind. 

Give  her  a  name  that  frights  God's  foes, 
The  name  one  bears  who  is 

In  God's  rose-garden  a  tall  rose 
Among  the  white  lilies. 

Give  her  a  friend  who  will  not  fail, 
Who  walks  in  white  so  brave  ; 

Not  Deirdre  of  the  sorrows  pale. 
Nor  Grania,  nor  Maeve. 


THE     ONLY    CHILD 

Lest  he  miss  other  children,  lo  ! 
His  angel  is  his  playfellow  ; 
A  riotous  angel  two  years  old, 
With  wings  of  rose  and  curls  of  gold. 

There  on  the  nursery  floor  together 
They  play  when  it  is  rainy  weather. 
Building  brick  castles  with  much  pain. 
Only  to  knock  them  down  again. 

Two  golden  heads  together  look 
An  hour  long  o'er  a  picture-book, 
Or,  tired  of  being  good  and  still, 
They  play  at  horses  with  good-will. 
52 


And  when  the  boy  laughs  you  shall  hear 
Another  laughter  silver-clear, 
Sweeter  than  music  of  the  skies, 
Or  harps,  or  birds  of  Paradise. 

Two  golden  heads  one  pillow  press, 
Two  rosebuds  shut  for  heaviness  ; 
The  wings  of  one  are  round  the  other, 
Lest  chill  befall  his  tender  brother. 

All  day,  with  forethought  mild  and  grave. 
The  little  angel's  quick  to  save, 
And  still  outruns  with  tender  haste 
The  adventurous  feet  that  go  too  fast ; 

From  draughts,  from  fire,  from  cold  and  stings, 
Wraps  him  within  his  gauzy  wings ; 
And  knows  his  father's  pride,  and  shares 
His  happy  mother's  tears  and  prayers. 


LOVE    COMFORTLESS 

The  child  is  in  the  night  and  rain 

On  whom  no  tenderest  wind  might  blow, 
And  out  alone  in  a  hurricane. 


The  child  is  safe  in  Paradise  ! 

The  snow  is  on  his  gentle  head. 
His  little  feet  are  in  the  snow. 
O,  very  cold  is  his  small  bed  ! 


Jhy  noy 


Lift  up  your  hearty  lift  up  your  eyes  I 
53 


Jhy  nOy 


Over  the  fields  and  out  of  sight, 

Beside  the  lonely  river's  flow, 

Lieth  the  child  this  bitter  night. 

The  child  sleeps  under  Mary's  eyes  ! 

What  Meandering  Iamb  cries  sore  distressed, 

Whilst  I  with  fire  and  comfort  go  ? 
O,  let  me  warm  him  in  my  breast ! 

Jhy  noy 
*Tis  warm  in  God^s  lit  nurseries ! 


LAMBS 

He  sleeps  as  a  lamb  sleeps, 

Beside  his  mother. 
Somewhere  in  yon  blue  deeps 

His  tender  brother 
Sleeps  like  a  lamb  and  leaps. 

He  feeds  as  a  lamb  might, 

Beside  his  mother. 
Somewhere  in  fields  of  light 

A  lamb,  his  brother. 
Feeds,  and  is  clothed  in  white. 


THE    SHEEPFOLD 

The  Shepherd  of  the  sheepfold  leant 
Upon  his  crook,  and  saw  within 

The  fold  his  milky  ewes  content, 
His  white  lambs  innocent  of  sin. 

54 


The  milky  mothers  giving  suck 
He  saw,  and  merry  lambs  at  play  ; 

Yet,  leaning  on  his  shepherd's  crook, 
His  eyes,  his  heart,  were  turned  away. 

His  tender  thoughts  were  turned  apart 
To  where  his  orphaned  lambs  cried  on  ; 

Their  cries  lay  heavy  on  his  heart — 
Poor  milkless  lambkins  and  undone. 

With  tears  he  saw  the  milky  dams 
Go  dropping  milk  upon  the  grass ; 

These  were  the  mothers  of  dead  lambs. 
The  mothers  of  dead  lambs,  alas  ! 

O  little  lambs  that  would  not  live. 
Your  milk  runs  all  to  bitter  waste. 

Your  milk  that  makes  the  Shepherd  grieve 
Runs  out  like  tears  so  hot  and  fast. 

O  comfort,  comfort  then  those  sheep. 
Whose  little  lovely  lambs  are  dead. 

The  milk  that  makes  the  Shepherd  weep 
Runs  out  like  tears,  and  none  is  fed. 


THE    NEW    MOON    AT    CHRISTMAS 

The  new  moon  at  Christmas 

Is  like  a  little  boat 
That  the  winds  out  of  Paradise 

Set  sweetly  afloat. 
55 


With  the  Star  at  its  mast-head, 

Its  sails  of  silver  bright, 
The  new  moon  at  Christmas 

Brings  home  the  world's  Delight. 

The  new  moon  at  Christmas 

It  brings  in  its  wake 
Oh  many  a  small  boat  sailing 

Upon  the  night's  blue  lake. 
The  children  who  left  us 

And  never  looked  behind 
Come  sailing  swiftly  homeward 

With  a  favouring  wind. 

They  sit  down  so  sweetly 

By  the  hearth-fire  warm, 
Like  doves  they  come  flocking 

From  the  Winter's  storm. 
The  mother's  arms  are  round  them, 

Soft  cheek  and  shining  curl ; 
Oh,  many  a  mother's  darling. 

Many  a  boy  and  girl. 

The  new  moon  at  Christmas 

Is  a  cradle  small 
Where  Mary  sits  rocking 

The  King  of  children  all. 
She  croons  Him  a  lullaby, 

Oh  very  sweet  she  sings. 
Shaking  the  snow-flake  feathers 

For  the  King  of  Kings. 
56 


The  cradle  hangs  sweetly 

In  the  starshine  cold, 
And  many  an  empty  cradle 

Hath  a  babe  again  to  hold. 
About  the  rosy  hearth-fire 

Where  two  sit  alone 
There  come  smiling  so  faintly 

The  children  long  flown. 


The  new  moon  at  Christmas 

That  shone  when  Christ  was  born 
Brings  home  the  lost  children 

To  the  hearts  forlorn. 
They  sit  down  by  the  hearth-fire 

Light  as  the  falling  snow — 
Lighter  than  snow  their  kisses — 

Till  it  is  time  to  go. 


THE    CHILD 

I  AM  Thy  child,  foolish  and  small. 

Content  with  things  my  fancy  weaves  ; 

Somewhere,  behind  the  outer  wall. 
The  soul  judicious  sits  and  grieves. 


I  grasp  at  toys  and  painted  things. 
The  rainbow  bubble  takes  my  eyes, 

I  am  fain  of  the  butterfly's  bright  wings 
And  every  radiant  thing  that  flies. 
57 


I  am  not  wise  :  I  grasp  at  toys, 

Poor  passing  things  that  break  in  air  ; 

I  am  foolish  with  small  girls  and  boys, 
Playing  as  a  child  plays  even  at  prayer. 

Still  when  Thou  comest  I  am  fain 

To  look  away  from  Thee  and  run 
Back  to  my  hoop  and  ball  again, 

My  pleasant  playing  in  the  sun. 

When  wilt  Thou  say  :  It  is  enough  ! 

Thou  art  grown  :  thou  growest  old  :  be  wise  ! 
Yet  it  was  children  Thou  didst  love 

When  Thou  didst  come  in  mortal  guise. 

What  if  my  folly  found  Thee  kind 
As  Thou  wast  to  the  children  then  ? 

What  if  Thy  kindness  had  no  mind 
To  break  my  foolish  toys  in  twain  ? 

What  if  Thou,  knowing  me  vain  and  light, 
Should'st  smile  and  say  :  So  children  be. 

Oh,  if  I  might  go  clad  in  white. 

Carrying  a  young  child's  heart  to  Thee — 

Oh  if  my  folly  kept  me  small, 

Like  lambs  and  children  undefiled, 

I  would  not  grow  a  man  and  tall. 
But  be  Thy  child.  Thy  foolish  child. 


58 


BOOK     VI 


CHRISTMAS    COMMUNION 

My  heart  a  stable  bare  and  hard, 
Not  sweet  with  balm  and  spikenard, 
Was  all  I  had  to  give  Him  when 
His  love  bade  Him  be  born  again. 
And  yet  His  choice  the  stable  is 
Before  the  splendid  palaces. 

Beside  the  bed  of  starveling  grass 

Whereon  He  would  be  born,  alas  ! 

Are  two  great  beasts  that  hang  the  head  : 

Ox  of  my  appetite,  my  greed, 

Ass  of  my  folly,  gross  and  dull  : 

Are  these  Thy  courtiers.  Beautiful  ? 

Without,  the  Heaven  a  glory  shows, 

Angels  on  Angels,  rows  on  rows  ; 

And  stars  on  stars,  all  shine  on  shine  ; 

And  Kings  fain  to  be  serfs  of  Thine. 

Thou  hast  such  adoration.     Nay, 

Here  wilt  Thou  come  ?  Here  wilt  Thou  stay  ? 

Bid  me  with  ox  and  ass  to  lie 
Face  downward  in  humility. 
And  in  a  little  truce  of  Heaven 
Know  we  are  ransomed  and  forgiven. 
Bid  us  to  weep,  bid  us  to  burn. 
From  sin  and  ignorance  to  turn. 


6i 


AFTER    COMMUNION 


I  CARRY  now  within  my  breast 
The  Son  of  God  ;  His  rest,  His  nest : 
As  Mary's  arms  once  cradled  close 
Her  Rose  of  Heaven,  her  golden  Rose. 

I  am  the  stable  and  the  bed, 
The  holy  hay  where  He  was  laid. 
The  angels  stand  at  gaze  to  see 
What  wonder  hath  been  wrought  on  me. 

I  am  the  House  of  Nazareth, 
Where  Jesus  drew  His  quiet  breath, 
When  He  was  little  and  a  boy, 
His  father's  light,  His  mother's  joy. 

I  am  the  ass  went  carrying, 
Ere  he  was  born,  the  Precious  Thing ; 
The  ass,  whereof  God's  guard  did  keep 
The  four  little  feet  lest  they  should  slip. 

I  am  the  room  wherein  was  set 

The  Last  Supper's  most  heavenly  meat ; 

And  I  the  platter  and  the  cup 

He  gave  to  them  when  He  did  sup. 

I  am  the  Cross,  whereon  He  lay, 
The  rock-hewn  grave  cold  as  the  clay  ; 
But  not  the  garden  green  wherein 
He  talked  with  Mary  Magdalen. 
62 


I  shine  beyond  the  fairest  star, 
More  than  the  constellations  are, 
A  little  while  :  till  He  is  gone, 
And  all  my  lights  die,  one  by  one. 

I  am  naught  but  common  clay,  so  hard. 
I  bring  nor  balm  nor  spikenard  ; 
Nor  fling  Him  Magdalen's  beauteous  fleece. 
Nor  shed  her  tears  that  win  heart's  ease. 

Yet  am  His  Cup  :  no  porcelain  fine, 
Nor  wrought  silver,  nor  gold  ashine  : 
His  choice  :  and  shining  by  that  bliss 
Beyond  the  heavenly  chalices. 


n 

My  soul,  that's  house-mate  with  my  body. 
And  finds  the  tenement  too  small. 

Frets  at  her  vesture,  white  and  ruddy. 
Would  break  the  windows,  scale  the  wall ; 

Would  spread  her  useless  wings,  and  flying 
Leave  all  her  dull  estate  behind. 

To-day,  with  angels  touching,  vieing, 
She  finds  her  prison  to  her  mind. 

See  now  the  prisoner's  manumission  ! 

And  yet  she  hugs  her  prison  still. 
Where  shining  heads  and  wings  elysian 

Are  crowding  by  her  window-sill. 

63 


She  sweeps  her  room  and  makes  it  festal, 
Flings  a  white  cloth  upon  the  board, 

And  with  a  bridal  heart  and  vestal 
Awaits  the  coming  of  her  Lord. 

This  is  her  hour.  Enrapt,  with  Mary, 
She  breaks  her  box  of  ointment  rare, 

Kneels  in  her  heaven.  Love's  sanctuary, 
And  feels  His  touch  upon  her  hair. 

Meanwhile  her  house-mate  who  shall  perish 

One  hour  is  glorified  likewise  ; 
Envied  of  angels,  she  doth  cherish 

The  Darling  of  the  earth  and  skies. 

One  hour,  poor  wench,  her  honour's  over ; 

She,  destined  only  for  the  earth. 
Fashioned  for  no  immortal  lover. 

Gives  praise  for  crowns  beyond  her  worth. 

No  longer  now  the  soul's  in  prison, 
Nor  tethered  by  her  useless  wings  ; 

Slips  bonds  ;  follows  her  Lord  arisen. 
And  ere  she  falls  by  heaven's  gate  sings. 


THE    PROUD    LADY 

Myself  will  ne'er  myself  decry 
Nor  count  myself  all  base. 

Since  that  a  noble  Love  have  I 
Who  stoops  to  my  disgrace. 

64 


Though  I  be  poor  and  small  and  mean, 

What  matter  so  I  be  ? 
Still  I  am  prouder  than  a  Queen 

That  He  has  chosen  me. 

My  heart  is  but  a  barren  spot 

Cold  as  a  stone,  as  hard  ; 
The  angels  bring  my  arid  plot 

Heaven's  balm  and  spikenard. 

As  He  goes  in  and  He  goes  out 

They  envy  still  my  bliss, 
Shaking  the  stars  of  Heaven  about 

The  nard  and  ambergris. 

As  once  upon  the  garden  ground 

He  rested  His  spent  head, 
I  set  within  my  narrow  bound 

Grey  stones  to  be  His  bed. 

As  once  He  lay  within  the  tomb 
Stark  in  His  three  days'  rest, 

A  bitter,  an  unlovely  room 
I  make  Him  in  my  breast. 

And  yet  myself  I  will  not  scorn, 
And  why  indeed  should  I  ? 

Seeing  for  me  my  Prince  doth  spurn 
The  splendours  of  His  sky. 


65 


LVX    IN    TENEBRIS 

At  night  what  things  will  stalk  abroad, 
What  veiled  shapes,  and  eyes  of  dread ! 

With  phantoms  in  a  lonely  road 
And  visions  of  the  dead. 

The  kindly  room  when  day  is  here, 
At  night  takes  ghostly  terrors  on  ; 

And  every  shadow  hath  its  fear, 
And  every  wind  its  moan. 

Lord  Jesus,  Day-star  of  the  world, 
Rise  Thou,  and  bid  this  dark  depart, 

And  all  the  east,  a  rose  uncurled, 
Grow  golden  at  the  heart  ! 

Lord,  in  the  watches  of  the  night, 

Keep  Thou  my  soul !  a  trembling  thing 

As  any  moth  that  in  daylight 
Will  spread  a  rainbow  wing. 


THE    NIGHT    COMETH 

Deeper  and  deeper  grows  the  shade. 
It  will  be  dark  ere  evening  come. 

Yet  shall  my  heart  be  not  dismayed 
If  Thou  art  with  me  in  the  gloom. 

What  though  the  faces  grow  more  dim. 
The  kind  and  friendly  faces  all. 

If  Thou,  girt  by  the  Cherubim, 

Should'st  walk  with  me  at  evenfall  ? 
66 


What  though  Thy  hills  die  off  in  mist, 

Thy  sky,  Thy  stars,  Thy  night.  Thy  morn- 

Though  grey  be  rose  and  amethyst. 
And  of  earth's  glory  I  am  shorn  ? 

What  if  Thy  face  should  rise  upon 
My  starless  night  and  I  should  see 

Its  beauty  more  than  moon  and  sun 
Lighting  my  darkness  wonderfully  ? 

What  if  this  beauteous  world  Thou'st  wrought 
Were  but  a  maze  where  I  should  stray 

And  lose  Thee, — losing  Thee  have  naught  ? 
Let  night  fall  on  my  world  and  day  ! 

Oh,  if  in  clouds  of  blackest  night 

Groping  I  find  Thy  fingers  kind. 
Thine  eyes  turn  all  my  darkness  light  : 

Star  of  my  blindness,  be  I  blind  ! 


THE    COLLOQUY 

"  In  the  crevice  of  the  rock. 
Oh  my  sister,  my  dove, 

Show  me  thy  face." 
"  I  the  soiled  of  the  flock  ! 
Though  I  yearn.  Thou  wouldst  turn 

From  my  disgrace." 

"  But  know  you  not  (He  said) 
When  I  died  from  My  side 
Poured  blood  and  water, 

67 


Water  clear  and  blood  red 
To  wash  white  in  death's  despite 
Thy  sins,  daughter  ?  " 

"  See  my  heart,  shrivelled  small. 
Cold  as  stone,  cold  and  lone, 

Sad  its  story  ! 
Why  dost  Thou  come  at  all  ? 
Here's  no  place  for  Thy  grace. 

King  of  Glory." 

"  It  is  hard,  yet  not  so  hard 
As  the  bed  where  I  was  laid 

For  thy  dear  sake, 
In  the  balm  and  spikenard, 
In  death's  swound,  all  one  wound 

Till  third  day-break." 

"  My  arms  for  Thy  head 
And  my  breast  for  Thy  rest, 

I,  the  unkind  one  ! 
Go  higher  ;  in  my  stead 
Seek  one  white,  ardent,  bright 

Seek  Thou  and  find  one." 

He  said  :  "  Upon  the  Tree 
With  content  was  I  spent, 

I,  the  Lover ! 
I,  who  have  chosen  thee 
Warm  thee  through,  make  anew 

Over  and  over." 
68 


"  In  the  crevice  of  the  rock 
Then  break  me,  re-make  me 

After  Thy  fashion. 
I,  the  impure  of  the  flock, 
Hold  me,  enfold  me 

In  the  sea  of  Thy  Passion.' 


VOTIVE    OFFERING 

Hearts  of  silver  and  of  gold 
Men  had  brought  in  days  of  old 
To  Thy  shrine  for  offering. 
Symbols  of  a  holier  thing. 

Lord,  Lord,  dear,  adored  ! 
Take  my  little  candle,  Lord  ; 
Through  the  lights  in  Paradise 
Let  my  candle  please  Thine  eyes. 

Hearts  that  ache  and  hearts  that  break. 
Hearts  to  shatter  and  remake, 
Here  before  Thy  feet  are  laid, 
Where  June's  roses  burn  and  fade. 

Lord,  Lord,  life  is  light. 
Flame  a  heart  that  burns  to  white  ; 
As  this  flame  mounts  steadily 
Draw  a  heart  that  turns  from  Thee. 

For  a  cold  heart  all  its  days, 
Let  my  candle  tell  Thy  praise  , 
For  a  heart  that's  ignorant, 
Let  my  candle  one  hour  chant. 

69 


Poor  my  candle  is  and  small ; 
Yet  Thou  know'st  the  thoughts  of  all ; 
How  my  candle  saith  my  prayer 
When  my  feet  go  otherwhere. 

How  one  thought  I  leave  behind. 
Though  my  thoughts  are  hard  to  bind  ; 
Though  I  go  away,  forget, 
Thou  one  hour  o'erlookest  it. 


70 


BOOK     VII 


MICHAEL    THE    ARCHANGEL 

Not  woman-faced  and  sweet,  as  look 
The  angels  in  the  picture-book  ; 
But  terrible  in  majesty, 
More  than  an  army  passing  by. 

His  hair  floats  not  upon  the  wind 
Like  theirs,  but  curled  and  closely  twined  ; 
Wrought  with  his  aureole,  so  that  none 
Shall  know  the  gold  curls  from  the  crown. 

His  wings  he  hath  put  away  in  steel. 
He  goes  mail-clad  from  head  to  heel ; 
Never  moon-silver  hath  outshone 
His  breast-plate  and  his  morion. 

His  brows  are  like  a  battlement, 
Beautiful,  brave  and  innocent ; 
His  eyes  with  fires  of  battle  burn — 
On  his  strong  mouth  the  smile  is  stern. 

His  horse,  the  horse  of  Heaven,  goes  forth. 
Bearing  him  to  the  South  and  North, 
Neighing  far  off,  as  one  that  sees 
The  battle  over  distances. 

His  fiery  sword  is  never  at  rest. 

His  foot  is  in  the  stirrup  prest ; 

Through  all  the  world  where  wrong  is  done 

Michael  the  Soldier  rideth  on. 

7a 


Michael,  Commander  !     Angels  are 
That  sound  the  trumpet,  and  that  bear 
The  banners  by  the  Throne,  where  is 
The  King  one  nameth  on  one's  knees. 

Angels  there  are  of  peace  and  prayers, 
And  they  that  go  with  wayfarers, 
And  they  that  watch  the  house  of  birth, 
And  they  that  bring  the  dead  from  earth. 

And  mine  own  Angel.     Yet  I  see. 
Heading  God's  army  gloriously, 
Michael  Archangel,  like  a  sun, 
Splendid  beyond  comparison  ! 


THE    DREAM    OF    MARY 

"  Mary,  Mother,  art  thou  asleep  ? " 

"  Nay,  dear  Son,  but  waking  and  dreaming." 

"  Mary,  Mother,  why  dost  thou  weep  ? " 

"  I  saw  Thy  dear  Blood  flowing  and  streaming." 

"  Mary,  Mother,  tell  me  thy  dream." 

"  Blessed  Son,  Thou  wert  trapped  and  taken, 

Scourged  with  stripes  in  a  hall  didst  seem. 
Mocked  with  laughter,  despised,  forsaken." 

"  Blessed  Mother,  thy  dream  tell  all." 
"  Blessed  Son,  on  a  Cross  wert  lying. 

While  a  black,  blind  knave  from  the  hall 
Pierced  Thy  heart  still  warm  from  dying." 
74 


"  Mary,  Mother,  thy  dream  is  true  ; 

True  thy  dreaming,  sad  Mother  Mary, 
Whether  the  years  be  many  or  few. 

Still  the  hunters  gain  on  the  quarry." 

Over  the  hill,  and  a  cold,  cold  hill, 
I  saw  Mary  dreaming  and  weeping. 

Making  a  space  betwixt  souls  and  ill. 

Snatching  men  from  hell  and  its  keeping. 


OF    AN    ANGEL 

Never  alone  upon  my  way  : 
Mine  Angel's  with  me  every  day  ; 
And  all  night  long  he  sits  and  sings. 
Shaking  the  darkness  off  his  wings. 

The  wavering  moonlight  steals  and  slips 
From  amber  head  to  pinion  tips, 
Bathing  him  in  a  silver  sea 
That  makes  his  eyes  a  mystery. 

When  I  am  bruised  and  sad  and  sore, 
Have  I  not  felt  him  leaning  o'er. 
Kissing  the  heavy  lids  to  sleep  ? 
Yea,  I  have  heard  him  weep  and  weep. 

In  the  noon-sun  I  see  him  stand. 
Rosy  azaleas  in  his  hand. 
His  sapphire  gown,  his  aureoled  curl, 
His  opal  wings  and  mo ther-o' pearl, 
75 


And  while  this  Angel  walks  with  me 
I  fear  not  all  the  ill  I  see, 
Though  in  the  fruit  a  canker  grows, 
And  serpents  harbour  'neath  the  rose. 

In  noon-day  gold,  in  moonlight  snow, 
I  know  the  precious  things  I  know, 
Hidden  not  from  my  love-keen  sight 
By  dazzle  of  day  and  mirk  of  night. 

Mine  Angel's  praying  hands  and  meek, 
The  pure  young  outline  of  his  cheek, 
His  grave  young  mouth,  his  brow  like  snow. 
His  everlasting  eyes  I  know. 

Love  lights  his  taper  at  those  eyes, 
O  stainless  Bird  of  Paradise  ! 
Love  in  your  heart  to  Love  divine 
Has  built  a  temple  and  a  shrine. 

O  lips  that  bless,  and  eyes  that  yearn, 
And  sometimes  sad,  but  never  stern. 
Dearest,  my  friend,  my  gift  of  God, 
Companion  on  my  dangerous  road. 

Stay  with  me,  though  the  day  be  long. 
And  Heaven  is  lonelier  for  your  song ; 
Though  I  be  sad,  and  all  my  plea 
Is  only  my  sad  poverty. 


76 


FOUR    ANGELS 

Four  great  angels  of  the  host 
Keep  a  world  that  else  were  lost, 
Sun,  Wind,  Rain,  Frost, 
Breathings  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

Sun  the  most  glorious  one, 
Power,  Prince,  Dominion, 
Whose  full  gaze  all  eyes  must  shun. 
Kindles  life,  gives  fire  to  the  stars. 

Wind  that  no  mortal  sees 
Walks  the  waters,  the  high  trees. 
His  cloak  flies  in  the  wild  countries. 
An  evil  shape  before  him  flees. 

Rain  walks  with  silver  feet 
Through  a  dry  world  dead  of  heat, 
Gives  the  field  its  rivulet. 
The  sound  of  waters,  many  and  sweet. 

Frost  winged  in  gems  and  white 
Breathes  on  a  starry  night, 
Bids  :  Heart,  sleep  in  life's  despite. 
Grow  strong,  sleep,  till  day's  in  sight. 

Four  great  angels  keep  the  earth 
Which  to  God  is  something  worth  ; 
One,  with  a  most  quiet  mirth. 
Dreams  now  and  laughs  beside  my  hearth. 


77 


THE    LEPER 

Not  white  and  shining  like  an  ardent  flame, 

Not  like  Thy  Mother  and  the  Saints  in  bliss, 
But  white  from  head  to  foot  I  bear  my  blame. 
White  as  the  leper  is. 

Unclean !    unclean !     But   Thou   canst    make    me 

clean  : 
Yet  if  Thou  clean'st  me,  Lord,  see  that  I  be 
Like  that  one  grateful  leper  of  the  ten 

Who  ran  back  praising  Thee. 

But  if  I  must  forget,  take  back  Thy  word ; 

Be  I  unclean  again  but  not  ingrate. 
Before  I  shall  forget  Thee,  keep  me,  Lord, 
A  sick  man  at  Thy  gate. 


GOOD    FRIDAY 

Good  Friday  is  a  heavenly  day, 

So  bright,  so  fair,  so  still ; 
They  slay  the  King  of  all  the  world 
On  a  high  hill. 

The  birds  sing  sweet  and  low. 

With  a  most  quiet  mirth  ; 
They  scoop  a  hollow  grave  for  Him, 
The  holiest  head  on  earth. 

78 


Good  Friday  is  a  heavenly  day, 

New  lights  on  earth  and  sky  : 
The  day  the  Saviour  of  us  all 
Went  forth  to  die. 

Sweetly  it  rose  and  fell, 

So  calm,  so  light,  so  grave. 
Christ  Jesus,  sacrificed  for  men, 
Died — and  forgave. 


THE    WOUNDS 

God's  son  had  Wounds  five 
To  save  men's  souls  alive. 

Five  Wounds,  five  Joys,  Heartsease, 
That  spring  for  man's  release. 

The  First  Wound  it  pierced  and  struck 
The  hand  that  blessed  and  broke. 

The  Second  stabbed  with  cruel  smart 
The  hand  was  next  His  heart. 

Of  the  Third  Wound  what  shall  be  said 
Wherewith  His  side  was  red  ? 

An  Heavenly  House,  a  Rosy  Ark 
To  house  men  from  the  dark. 

The  Fourth  and  Fifth  His  feet  did  keep 
That  followed  after  His  sheep 
79 


Nailed  to  the  Cross  lest  they  should  press 
On  their  high  business. 

The  Wounds  of  Love  they  throbbed  and  bled  ; 
In  Heaven  they  are  not  stayed. 

In  Heaven  they  are  red  roses  five 
That  save  men's  souls  alive. 

Five  roses  on  a  heavenly  tree 
And  Christ's  men  shall  go  free. 

Five  roses,  crimson-dyed 

In  His  hands,  in  His  feet,  in  His  side. 

Five  roses  set  between 
God's  anger  and  man's  sin. 


EASTER 

Bring  flow^ers  to  strew  His  way, 
Yea,  sing,  make  holiday  ; 
Bid  young  lambs  leap. 
And  earth  laugh  after  sleep. 

For  now  He  cometh  forth 
Winter  flies  to  the  north. 
Folds  wings  and  cries 
Amid  the  bergs  and  ice. 
80 


Bring  no  sad  palms  like  those 
That  led  Him  to  His  foes, 
Bring  wind-flower,  daffodil, 
From  many  a  vernal  hill. 

Let  there  be  naught  but  bloom 
To  light  Him  from  the  tomb 
Who  late  hath  slain 
Death,  and  his  glory  ta'en. 

Yea,  Death,  great  Death  is  dead, 
And  Life  reigns  in  his  stead  ; 
Cometh  the  Athlete 
New  from  dead  Death's  defeat. 

Cometh  the  Wrestler, 
But  Death  he  makes  no  stir, 
Utterly  spent  and  done 
And  all  his  kingdom  gone. 

Bring  flowers,  make  holiday 

In  His  triumphal  way  ; 

Salve  ye  with  kisses 

His  hurts  that  make  your  blisses. 

Bring  flowers,  make  holiday 
For  His  triumphal  way  ; 
Yea,  fling  before  Him 
Hearts  of  men  that  adore  Him. 


8i 


APRIL    IN    IRELAND 

Upon  the  highest  peak  and  dim 

Three  Crosses  idly  stand  ; 
They  have  taken  my  Lord  and  hidden  Him- 

Ah,  no,  the  Lord's  at  hand  ! 

Here  in  this  country  soft  and  green 

Not  here  was  He  betrayed, 
Hung  on  a  Cross,  the  thieves  between, 

The  while  His  grave  was  made. 

He  is  come  forth  from  the  grave's  gloom. 

And  o'er  this  shining  plain. 
Until  Ascension  Day  be  come 

He  walks  and  talks  with  men. 

Yet  the  three  Crosses,  cold  and  grey. 

Seem  still  the  watch  to  keep 
Over  the  children  at  their  play, 

The  white  lambs  and  the  sheep. 

Oh,  little  happy  vale  and  dear. 

Oh,  mountains  grey  and  dim. 
Here  shall  His  little  flock  not  fear, 

Yea,  they  shall  run  with  Him. 

The  innocent  lilies,  white  and  gold. 

The  daisied  pastures  bright, 
Here  He  hath  wattled  in  His  fold 

All  pleasant  in  His  sight. 


The  little  river  singing  goes 
And  spreads  a  shining  pool, 

This  April's  sweeter  than  a  rose, 
New  washed  and  wonderful. 

Above  the  vale,  on  the  highest  hill, 
Three  Crosses  keeping  guard  ; 

With  the  windflower  and  the  daffodil 
And  the  smell  of  spikenard. 


RESURRECTION 

After  three  days  were  over 
The  Lord  new-risen  was. 

O  Thou,  of  men  the  lover, 
Bring  all  men  to  this  pass ! 

Thou  who  wast  dead  yet  risen, 
Remember  these  and  those  : 

Bring  all  men  out  of  prison 

Who  died  with  Thee,  nor  rose. 

Because  that  Thou,  Lord  Jesus, 
Rose  splendid  after  death. 

Oh,  pity  us  and  ease  us, 

Who  die  with  every  breath  ! 

Because  for  all  our  yearning 
These  come  not  to  our  cry  : 

Since  there  is  no  returning 
And  since  that  we  must  die. 

83 


Lord  Jesus,  who  hast  won  us, 
Pity  Thy  helpless  folk  ; 

Yea,  lay  Thy  staff  upon  us, 
Thy  mercy  as  a  cloak. 

Thou  who  didst  die  before  us. 
Thy  three  days  quickly  sped, 

Dear  Lord,  be  sorry  for  us 
Who  rise  not  from  the  dead. 


SECOND    SIGHT 

"  Sister,"  said  blind  Dara, 

"What  do  you  behold?" 
Round  her  and  St.  Brigid 

Flowed  the  dawn's  gold. 
"  Sister,"  said  blind  Dara, 

"  Would  that  I  might  see 
Veils  of  gold  and  silver 

Drawn  on  hill  and  lea  !  " 

Over  her  and  Brigid 

Carolled  the  lark. 
Hills  were  heights  of  Heaven, 

Though  their  feet  were  dark. 
Dew  in  the  shadow 

Pearled  the  gossamer  5 
Kine  in  the  meadow 

'Gan  to  low  and  stir. 

84 


Mists  from  the  bogland 

Curled  like  silver  smoke  ; 
Young  birds  were  singing 

In  the  spreading  oak. 
To  the  east  and  southward 

Scarlet  grew  the  world, 
And  the  sun  leapt  upward 

As  a  ball  is  hurled. 

Brigid,  lost  in  praying, 

Touched  her  sister's  eyes  ; 
"  O,"  she  said,  "  my  sister. 

Dove  of  God,  arise  ! 
Eyes  no  longer  sightless. 

See  His  glory  spread  !  " 
Dara,  with  a  loud  cry. 

Lifted  up  her  head. 

Saw  the  little  rivers 

Glide  through  bogland  brown. 
Where  the  yellow  iris 

Flaunted  her  gold  gown. 
Saw  the  sea  of  scarlet 

Flush  on  hill  and  wood  ; 
Praised  God's  name,  rejoicing 

That  His  works  were  good. 

"  Yet,"  she  said,  "  my  sister, 

Blind  me  once  again. 
Lest  His  Presence  in  me 

Groweth  less  plain. 

8s 


Stars  and  dawn  and  sunset 

Keep  till  Paradise, 
Here  His  face  sufficeth 

For  my  sightless  eyes. 

"  O  !  "  she  said,  "  my  sister, 

Night  is  beautiful 
Where  His  face  is  shining 

Who  was  mocked  as  fool. 
More  than  star  and  meteor, 

More  than  moon  or  sun, 
Is  the  thorn-crowned  forehead 

Ofthe  Holy  One. 

"  Haste,"  she  said,  "  and  plunge  me 

Once  again  in  night. 
Lest  perchance  I  lose  Him, 

Gaining  my  sight." 
Brigid,  lost  in  praying. 

Touched  her  eyes  once  more, 
And  the  light  went  fading 

Off  sea  and  shore. 

All  His  creatures  praise  Him, 

From  daylight  to  dun. 
Stars  and  moon  and  cloudland, 

And  Messer  the  Sun  ; 
Seas  and  hills  and  forests, 

And  the  frozen  waste  : 
Dara  in  her  blindness 

Praiseth  Him  best. 

86 


BOOK      VIII 


THE    LITTLE    PRAISES 

Let  others  praise  Thee  in  the  height, 

With  Holy,  Holy,  Holy  ! 
I  praise  Thee  as  the  cricket  might, 

A  chirping  voice  and  lowly. 

Thou  for  Thy  saints  hast  wrought  great  things, 

The  angels  chant  Thy  praises ; 
But  I,  as  the  grasshopper  sings. 

Low  down  among  the  daisies. 

A  cricket  at  the  meadow's  edge 

That  chirps  and  is  not  quiet. 
Thou  hast  given  me  a  field,  a  hedge. 

And  dew  and  daisies  by  it. 

Some  praise  Thee  for  Thy  heaven  revealed  : 

Thy  glory's  far  above  me  ; 
My  heaven  is  in  a  green  grass  field, 

A  child,  a  man  to  love  me. 

Oh,  not  one  day  of  all  my  days 

Without  Thy  gift  went  over. 
My  heaven  is  in  the  orchard  ways, 

The  meadow  grass  and  clover. 

If  a  day  brought  me  care  and  sighs. 

What  comfort  followed  after  ! 
O,  still  my  tears  rise  for  Thine  eyes 

And  for  Thine  ears  my  laughter. 

89 


Still  was  my  shade  dappled  with  sun 
And  still  my  sun  had  shadow, 

And  with  glad  eyes  I  gazed  upon 
The  hill,  the  grass,  the  meadow. 

Oh,  not  Thine  angel,  not  Thy  bird 

Singing  Thy  praises  clearly. 
But  a  little  voice  on  the  green  grass-sward 

That  thanks  Thee  late  and  early. 


AN    ECHO 

I  LOOK  and  see  the  world  is  fair, 

And  marvel  much  at  what  can  move 

The  Lord  of  Earth,  the  Lord  of  Air, 
To  such  extremity  of  love. 

Seeing  we  have  so  short  a  space 
To  abide  on  this  side  of  the  tomb, 

We  could  have  borne  a  barer  place. 
An  unadorned,  but  cleanly,  room. 

Pilgrim  am  I  and  wayfarer. 

Sojourner  one  night  at  an  inn  ; 

What  matter  if  the  room  is  bare. 
So  that  the  bed  and  sheets  be  clean  ? 

But  ah,  dear  Lord,  this  would  not  suit 
Thy  love  for  me,  impure,  unkind  ; 

Thou  settest  the  daisies  at  my  feet, 

Mak'st  me  the  sky,  mak'st  me  the  wind. 
90 


Me  doth  ingenious  love  devise 

The  mountains  and  the  lakes  and  sea, 

All  roses  and  the  peacocks'  eyes  ; 

The  sun  runs  round  his  course  for  me. 

For  me  the  children  and  the  lambs, 
For  me  the  nightingale  and  lark. 

All  fields  and  meadows  and  tall  palms 
And  the  starred  curtain  of  the  dark. 

Yea,  in  Thine  Image,  I  am  given 
The  eyes  to  look  beyond  our  night, 

The  love  which  makes  of  earth  a  heave  n  ; 
Yea,  am  I  loved  in  my  despite. 

Why  should  I  try  to  tell  them  o'er, 
Thy  mercies  that  will  not  be  said. 

More  than  the  sands  on  the  sea-shore. 
More  than  the  hairs  upon  my  head  ? 

Thou,  Artizan  and  Architect, 

And  Master-Lover,  Master-Mind, 

With  wondrous  cunning  Thou  hast  decked 
These  walls  for  common  eyes  and  blind. 

Since  Thou  dost  such  delights  provid  e 
For  passing  earth  and  sinful  men. 

What  can  it  be  Thou  settest  aside 
For  man  when  he  is  born  again  ? 

What  is  it  that  Thou  hast  reserved  ? 

What  glories  on  his  sight  will  break, 
When  he  sits  down  by  angels  served 

And  at  Thy  board  his  thirst  will  slake  ? 
91 


Alas,  my  Lord,  why  wouldst  Thou  strive 
To  make  so  fair  a  house  of  call, 

That  there  are  some  who  here  will  live 
As  though  Thy  lovely  earth  were  all  ? 

Yea,  though  we  turn  Thy  gifts  to  ill, 
Make  of  Thy  benefits  our  bane, 

Thy  love,  Thy  love,  transcending  still 
Seeks  us  again,  finds  us  again. 


AN    ANTHEM    IN    HEAT 

Now  praise  the  Lord,  both  rrloon  and  sun, 

And  praise  Him  all  ye  nights  and  days, 
And  golden  harvests  every  one, 

And  all  ye  hidden  waterways. 
With  cattle  standing  to  the  knees 

Safe  from  the  bitter  gadfly's  sting ; 
But  praise  Him  most,  O  little  breeze 

That  walk'st  abroad  at  evening. 

O  praise  Him,  all  ye  orchards  now. 

And  all  ye  gardens  deep  in  green, 
Ripe  apples  on  the  yellowing  bough. 

And  golden  plum  and  nectarine. 
And  peaches  ruddier  than  the  rose. 

And  pears  against  the  southern  wall : 
But  most  the  little  wind  that  blows, 

The  blessed  wind  at  evenfall. 
92 


O  praise  Him,  hoary  dews  again, 

Drenching  the  meadows  'neath  the  moon, 
And  praise  Him,  hidden  founts  of  rain, 

And  amber  brooks  singing  a  tune, 
And  icy  deeps  of  well-water. 

And  each  pellucid  stream  and  spring  ; 
But  praise  Him  most,  O  wind  astir, 

O  blessed  wind  at  evening. 

O  praise  Him  now,  ye  burning  days 

Of  golden  summer,  hot  and  spent ; 
Planets  and  stars,  see  that  His  praise 

Be  blown  about  the  firmament. 
Yet  praise  Him  best,  O  little  wind 

That  out  of  heaven  wilt  blow  and  call, 
Because,  because  our  God  is  kind 

And  bids  us  live  at  evenfall. 


THANKSGIVING 

O  HOW  good  God  is  that  He  sends 
Stores  of  unfailing  love  to  me. 

And  work  and  prayer  and  praise  of  friends. 
Blackbirds  and  thrushes  in  the  tree. 

And  sheep-bells  in  the  fields,  and  roses. 
And  all  the  sweets  of  May  and  June, 

And  lavender  and  dew  and  posies. 
And  sun  and  moon. 

O  how  good  God  is  that  He  sends 

Bean-rows  in  blossom,  bees  i'  the  hive, 

Grey  dawns  and  golden  evening-ends. 
And  a  glad  heart  to  be  alive ; 
93 


A  grateful  mind  and  quiet  fancies, 

Shade  from  the  sun  and  sleep  at  night. 
And  clumps  of  brown  and  golden  pansies, 
And  lilies  white. 


O  how  good  God  is  that  He  sends 
A  little  child  to  be  all  ours. 

Mine  and  my  dearest  Love's,  and  tends 
Our  blossom  in  the  sun  and  showers, 

And  bids  His  angels  still  keep  near  him 
Lest  that  the  little  feet  should  miss. 

And  wings  of  angels  still  to  bear  him 
Ever  in  bliss. 


O  how  good  God  is  that  He  keeps 
The  child  for  ever  and  ever  well. 

Above  the  tempests  and  the  deeps, 
In  joy  no  tongue  can  tell. 

Our  little  lamb  of  God  goes  straying. 

By  daisied  meadows,  'neath  dappled  skies 

Our  little  lamb  of  God  goes  playing 
Under  God's  eyes. 


THE    QUIET    NIGHTS 

Unmindful  of  my  low  desert 
Who  turn  e'en  blessings  to  my  hurt, 
God  sends  me  graces  o'er  and  o'er, 
More  than  the  sands  on  the  seashore. 
94 


Among  the  blessings  He  doth  give 
My  starveling  soul  that  she  may  live, 
I  praise  Him  for  my  nights  He  kept 
And  all  the  quiet  sleep  I  slept 

Since  I  was  young,  who  now  grow  old. 
For  all  those  nights  of  heat,  of  cold, 
I  slept  the  sweet  hours  through,  nor  heard 
Even  the  call  of  the  first  bird. 


Nights  when  the  darkness  covered  mc 
In  a  great  peace  like  a  great  sea 
With  waves  of  sweetness,  who  should  lie 
Wakeful  for  mine  iniquity. 

Cool  nights  of  fragrance,  dripping  sweet. 
After  the  sultriness  of  heat. 
Amid  grey  meadows  drenched  with  dew ; 
Sweet  was  the  sleep  my  eyelids  knew. 

Surely  some  angel  kept  my  bed 
After  I  had  knelt  down  and  prayed. 
Like  a  young  child  I  slept,  until 
The  day  stood  at  the  window-sill. 

I  thank  Him  for  the  nights  of  stars, 
Bright  Saturn  with  his  rings,  and  Mars, 
And  overhead  the  Milky  Way  ; 
Nights  when  the  summer  lightnings  play, 

95 


How  many  a  Milky  Way  I  trod^ 
And  through  the  mercy  of  my  God 
Drank  milk  and  honey,  wrapped  in  ease 
Of  darkness  and  sweet  heaviness  ! 

I  thank  Him  for  the  wakening  bird, 
And  the  struck  hours  I  have  not  heard. 
And  for  the  morns  so  cool,  so  kind, 
That  found  me  fresh  in  heart  and  mind. 

Among  the  gifts  of  His  mercy. 
More  than  the  leaves  upon  the  tree. 
The  sands  upon  the  shore,  I  keep 
And  name  my  lovely  nights  of  sleep. 


THE    SERVANTS 

I  HAVE  six  servants  for  my  use, 
Two  bear  me  wheresoe'er  I  choose  ; 
Carry  me  through  the  v^^orld  v^here'er 
I  choose  to  be  a  traveller. 

Two,  feat  and  nimble,  do  my  w^ill. 
Write,  play,  sew,  toilers  tireless  still. 
Serve  me  w^ith  joy,  serve  me  with  love. 
And  never  cry,  "  It  is  enough," 

Two  yet  remaining  ope  for  me 
The  world  of  Art  and  Poetry, 
The  dear  delights  of  Nature  spread 
That  feast  my  soul  like  daily  bread. 

96 


The  feet  that  bear  me  long  and  well, 

Wonderfully  wrought,  a  miracle  : 

I  praise  God  as  I  walk  abroad 

For  these  strong,  delicate  works  of  God. 

Likewise  my  hands  that  toil  and  moil, 
Nor  in  my  service  fear  a  soil. 
Wonderful  hands  that  still  achieve 
So  much  between  the  morn  and  eve. 


Yet  of  my  eyes  what  shall  I  say. 
That  without  any  holiday. 
Year  after  year  sans  ease  and  rest, 
Work  for  me  like  the  patient  beast  ? 

The  eyes  I  have  not  thought  to  spare. 
Being  a  merciless  task-master. 
Not  careful  of  their  strength  nor  wise, — 
I  crave  forgiveness  of  my  eyes. 

When  on  one  day  account  I  shall 
Unto  the  Over-Lord  of  all 
For  these  my  servants,  I  shall  say, 
**  Well  did  they  serve  me  in  my  day," 

And  on  that  day  of  the  Great  Assize 
I  pray  my  hands,  my  feet,  my  eyes 
Accuse  me  not.     Ah,  why  should  I  fear 
These  fellow-travellers,  kind  and  dear  ? 
97  G 


These  comrades  on  the  heavenward  road, 
Those  cunning,  wonderful  works  of  God. 
Not  servants  !     Nay,  but  each  a  friend, 
For  whom  I  praise  God,  world  without  end. 


ALL    IN    ALL 

Thou  knowest,  though  still  I  fail  and  fall. 
Thy  love  is  yet  mine  all  in  all — 
My  health,  my  wealth,  my  joy,  my  law, 
Yea  and  the  very  breath  I  draw. 

As  Peter  said,  I  say  the  word  : 
"  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee,  Lord  !  " 
I,  stained  with  more  than  his  disgrace. 
And  yet  so  bold  before  Thy  face  ! 

The  hills,  the  vales,  my  words  repeat — 
The  solid  earth  beneath  my  feet. 
The  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars  at  even. 
Yea  and  the  listening  saints  in  heaven. 

Bear  witness  now,  ye  leaping  seas. 
And  all  ye  woodland  palaces. 
And  Orient  lands  of  spice  and  scents, 
And  Northern  ice-bound  continents  : 

In  this  hard  heart,  so  cold  and  small, 
My  Lord  is  still  mine  all  in  all ; 
And  if  He  turn  His  face  away, 
A  cloud  is  on  the  face  of  day ; 

98 


And  whitest  day  is  blackest  night 
If  I  am  banished  from  His  sight ; 
And  if  afar  He  lingereth, 
My  life  is  living  death  in  death. 

A  heart  so  hard,  so  cold,  so  small, 
What  wouldst  Thou  with  this  heart  at  all  ? 
So  weak,  so  poor,  so  like  to  stray, 
Breaking  Thy  mandates  every  day  ! 

And  yet  though  clogged  with  sin  I  be 
I  fail  not  in  Thy  thought  of  me  ; 
For  on  my  heart  Thyself  hast  writ 
Thy  name  and  the  sweet  grace  of  it. 

And  on  my  soul  Thyself  canst  trace 
The  pictured  likeness  of  Thy  face. 
Clear  as  of  old  Veronica 
Upon  the  blood-stained  kerchief  saw. 

No  true  and  faithful  lover  I, 
Yet  Thy  poor  lover  till  I  die — 
And  past  the  gates  of  death  and  birth, 
And  the  lost  memory  of  the  earth. 

So  take  Thou  me  and,  if  Thou  wilt. 
Purge  from  me  all  my  woe  and  guilt ; 
Show  me  to  angels  standing  by 
Whiter  than  whitest  purity. 
99 


See  in  Thy  hands  I  lay  them  all — 
My  will  that  fails,  my  feet  that  fall ; 
My  heart  that  wearies  everywhere, 
Yet  finds  Thy  yoke  so  hard  to  bear. 

Yea,  with  all  these  my  love  that  still 
Loves — for  is  love  not  hard  to  kill  ? — 
Whose  only  grace  it  well  may  be 
Is  that  it  loves  so  worthily. 


THE    FLYING    WHEEL 

When  I  was  young  the  days  were  long. 
Oh,  long  the  days  when  I  was  young  : 
So  long  from  morn  to  even  fall 
As  they  would  never  end  at  all. 

Now  I  grow  old  Time  flies,  alas  ! 
I  watch  the  years  and  seasons  pass. 
Time  turns  him  with  his  fingers  thin 
A  wheel  that  whirls  while  it  doth  spin. 

There  is  no  time  to  take  one's  ease, 
For  to  sit  still  and  be  at  peace  : 
Oh,  whirling  wheel  of  Time,  be  still, 
Let  me  be  quiet  if  you  will ! 

Yet  still  it  turns  so  giddily. 
So  fast  the  years  and  seasons  fly, 
Dazed  with  the  noise  and  speed  I  run 
And  stay  me  on  the  Changeless  One. 


I  stay  myself  on  Him  who  stays 
Ever  the  same  through  nights  and  days : 
The  One  Unchangeable  for  aye, 
That  was  and  will  be  :  the  one  Stay, 

O'er  whom  Eternity  will  pass 

But  as  an  image  in  a  glass  ; 

To  whom  a  million  years  are  nought,— 

I  stay  myself  on  a  great  Thought, 

I  stay  myself  on  the  great  Quiet 
After  the  noises  and  the  riot ; 
As  in  a  garnished  chamber  sit 
Far  from  the  tumult  of  the  street. 

Oh,  wheel  of  Time,  turn  round  apace  ! 
But  I  have  found  a  resting-place. 
You  will  not  trouble  me  again 
In  the  great  peace  where  I  attain. 


THE    EPITAPH 

Write  on  my  grave  when  I  am  dead, 

Whatever  road  I  trod 
That  I  admired  and  honourW 

The  wondrous  works  of  God. 

That  all  the  days  and  years  I  had, 

The  greatest  and  the  least, 
Each  day  with  grateful  heart  and  glad 

I  sat  me  to  a  feast. 

loi  G  2 


That  not  alone  for  body's  meat 
Which  takes  the  lowest  place 

I  gave  Him  grace  when  I  did  eat 
And  with  a  shining  face, 

But  for  the  spirit  filled  and  fed 
That  else  must  waste  and  die, 

With  sun  and  stars  replenished 
And  dew  and  evening  sky. 

The  beauty  of  the  hills  and  seas 
Brimmed  that  immortal  cup  ; 

And  when  I  went  by  fields  and  trees 
My  heart  was  lifted  up. 

Lap  me  in  the  green  grass  and  write 

Upon  the  daisied  sod 
That  still  I  praised  with  all  my  might 

The  wondrous  works  of  God. 

)^   )eC   )8C   )8C   « 

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-DEC  21 


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